


Nothing I'd Want More

by ProneToRelapse



Series: The Thot Sent By CyberLife [8]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Sex Toys, Connor has vagina and he is Not Afraid To Use It, Exhibitionism, Fucking in public (sort of), Horny not accuracy, Humor, Long distance fucking, M/M, Phone Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, dubious knowledge of American political system, please don’t judge me I wrote this with my dick, sort of..., where are the secret service when you need them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-29 08:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16260428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Connor accompanies the Jericho Crew to Washington to help with their political stance. Hank stays behind.They still manage to get up to their usual mischief.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to read it, so i wrote it. happy birthday to me, indeed.
> 
> fuck dabbing cabbage as always
> 
> connor has a vagina in this fic and I use terms like pussy and clit as descriptors so don't read it if that makes you uncomfortable <3

_ “Hello, Hank.” _

 

“Hi, Con.”

 

And just like that, all the stress of the day ebbs out of Hank’s body from just the low sound of Connor’s voice in his ear, tone soft and full of relieved affection. Hank spreads across the bed, too big, too empty, and closes his eyes.

 

He’d been all for Connor heading to Washington with the Jericho crew, as supportive as he could be in the face of Connor’s hesitance. And he stuck by that. It was good for Connor to help push forward the agenda for his kind, to be seen in their company as fighting for instead of against. Even if the bed still felt too big and too cold right now. 

 

_ “How are you?” _

 

Hank gives a quiet groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “Better now. Stressful day. How was the trip?”

 

_ “Uneventful. I rather enjoy travelling, though. It’s nice to see different scenery every once in a while. Though I wish you’d been able to come with me.” _

 

“Yeah, I know. Try and enjoy yourself, though. See some sights, or whatever.”

 

_ “I doubt we’ll have time. And I’d rather see them with you, anyway.” _

 

Hank sighs softly against the ache of longing in his chest. “Yeah, me too. We’ll work something out. How’s the hotel?”

 

Connor makes a thoughtful sound. _ “It’s pleasant enough. Bright, spacious. Quite a nice shower. You’d like it more than I do, I think. I’ll only be using it for stasis, anyway.” _

 

“Got a room to yourself?”

 

_ “Yes.” _

 

“Lucky you.”

 

_ “I suppose. I’d very much prefer it if you were here with me.” _

 

Hank smiles, hopelessly fond. “Yeah, me too, baby. Sumo misses you.”

 

_ “That’s it, I’m coming home.” _

 

Hank laughs faintly, shifting to get comfortable. “I see how it is. I miss you and it’s fine, but as soon as Sumo misses you, you commandeer a plane to hightail it home.”

 

Connor’s quiet laugh is the final sound Hank needs to hear to relax that last little bit, sinking down into the pillows and tucking an arm behind his head as he settles. “So what’s the plan for you guys?”

 

_ “A few meetings, a couple of televised announcements. Hopefully we should be reaching an accord with regards to national android integration by the end of the week.” _

 

“That’s good, right?”

 

_ “It would be. I’m finding it… Stressful. I understand why Markus wanted me with him. I can ascertain public responses and stress levels. And I can diffuse tense situations with ease. It is, after all, what I was built for.” _

 

Hank hears the reticence in Connor’s tone, even as he tries to hide it. “What’s the real issue?”

 

It takes a moment for Connor to reply. There are no background noises, no shuffling as Connor moves or settles down to get comfortable. No sounds of traffic outside the windows or the whir of the air con unit. The benefits of having a phone in your head, even if the sound of Connor’s simulated breathing is something Hank can no longer sleep without.

 

_ “I was not sympathetic to the deviant cause until the very end,”  _ Connor finally says, voice heavy. _ “I am not trusted by the majority of my own kind. Still. I believe it was partially Markus’ intent to bring me with him and... show me off, in a way. To have me stand at his side and let both androids and humans know what side I stand on. Which is fine, I'm glad for people to know I’m no longer acting against the best interests of my kind, I just...” _

 

And Hank understands. “It puts you right in the spotlight.”

 

“ _ Yes, exactly.” _

 

“We talked about this,” Hank says patiently, sympathetically. “You have every right to be there. No one can hold your actions against you before you deviated. You were obeying your programming. And then you broke through and pretty much turned the tide of the uprising. Hell, let them think what they want. You’re working with Markus and, at the end of it all, you’ve got a job and a family to come back to.”

 

Connor doesn’t answer for long enough that Hank moves the phone away from his ear to check the call hasn’t dropped.

 

“Connor? You there, baby?”

 

_ “I’m here,”  _ Connor says, voice thick.  _ “Hank, you… You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” _

 

“What, that you’re my family?”

 

_ “Yes.” _

 

One word, small and so very, very soft. Hank can’t help the smile that curves across his face. The ache of Connor’s absence intensifies alongside the fierce surge of affection, almost overwhelming, helplessly bittersweet. 

 

“Well, you are,” Hank says, voice gruff. He clears his throat, swallowing like that will help clear the emotional thickness from his tone. “You know that.”

 

_ “I want to be close to you.” _

 

“I know, baby. Me too. Not long, though.” Too long and they both feel it. Hank still wonders at it. He’s been in relationships before, sure, been happy in them. But there’s nothing quite like the feeling of  _ knowing  _ how much your partner loves you, feeling that adoration bleeding into every word and action. Hank’s better now than he was before, when this was all new and he had no idea why Connor would want a washed up old asshole like him. But Hank can see it, the fondness in Connor’s eyes, knows it mirrors his own, and that’s enough. Even on his worst of days. 

 

_ “Hank?” _

 

“Yeah, baby?”

 

_ “There’s… Something in my bedside table. I left it there for you. If… If you want to use it.” _

 

Oh, hello. That pricks all the soft parts of Hank’s interest. “For me?” He rolls over before Connor can elaborate, too curious, and slips the drawer open. There isn’t much inside, other than Connor’s journal - dork keeps an actual  _ diary,  _ that’s so fucking adorable - a handful of pens and shiny things that he’s picked up because he’s apparently part magpie. It’s easy to see what Connor is talking about. Hank lifts it out with wide eyes, almost dropping his cell. 

 

“Connor,” Hank starts slowly, turning the silver cylinder over in his hand. “Is this…?”

 

_ “It’s similar,”  _ Connor says, voice pitched lower than before. He’s unsure, a little nervous, but Hank can hear the faint undercurrent of want in his tone.  _ “It functions in much the same way, except… This one is connected to me.” _

 

Hank chokes on all the things he wants to say next. He does actually drop his phone this time, mashing the speakerphone button with his thumb and freeing both his hands so he can get a better look at what sure as fuck looks like a damn fleshlight. Except this one has no poorly modelled pussy on the front, just a small bud of a hole that promises a tight fit either way. Its use is painfully clear. Hank swallows. 

 

“It’s… Connected.”

 

_ “To me, yes. I didn’t want… I knew I’d miss you. I already do, but I thought this would help, in a way. I miss your hands on me, I miss you inside me. If you’re willing, I’d… Like to try.” _

 

The smallest list in the world is titled “ _ Things Hank Anderson Would Not Do For Connor _ ”. Fucking a fleshlight that’s apparently synced up to his android partner’s body is not something Hank ever considered he could do, but it definitely isn’t on that list. Instead Hank adds it to the world’s  _ longest  _ list of “ _ Weird Android Shit Connor Does That Gets Hank Anderson Hard In Fucking Seconds _ ”.

 

“Not to be crass,” Hank says, probably for the first time in his life, “but what, uh,  _ hole _ is this synced up to?”

 

Connor is quiet for a long moment and Hank thinks  _ oh, boy.  _ He knows. He knows for damn sure and that silence is just incriminating at this point. Hank’s nothing if not perceptive, and he knows exactly what settings Connor’s got this weird ass little toy set to. He could absolutely check the box in the closet that contains all of Connor’s switchable…  _ bits,  _ but Hank is already pretty certain, and he wants to hear Connor admit it. 

 

_ “On this occasion I’ve synced the device with biocomponent #2390.” _

 

Bingo. 

 

“Connor.” Hank shifts his tone. Low, cajoling. Connor makes a soft sound in response and Hank curses the fact that he doesn’t have a tablet that can handle video calls. He’s buying one tomorrow, fuck it. He wants to see his baby. “I know what component it is. You know what I want to hear you say.”

 

_ “It…” _ There's a dip in his voice, an unnecessary one, and Hank knows he’s swallowing nervously.  _ “It’s synced to my— my pussy, Hank.” _

 

Hank gives a low growl of approval. “Good boy.” He rolls over into his back, phone on the pillow beside him. He turns the cylinder over in his palms. “I wanted to know for certain. So I know exactly where to touch you. How do I know it’s on, baby?”

 

There’s a pause and then a thin blue circle of light - the same shade as Connor’s LED - flares up on the base. It blinks twice and then Connor’s voice trickles from the tinny phone speaker. “ _ It’s on.”  _ There’s a light tremor to his voice. 

 

And Hank is definitely not gonna help that. He draws a fingertip lightly over the opening on the business end of the toy. Connor makes a small, surprised sound and something hot rushes through Hank’s body in response. 

 

“Baby,” Hank says softly. “I want to hear you. Properly. I can’t hear your pretty little gasps like this.”

 

A moment of silence passes and then a wave of ambient sound rushes through the phone speaker, the hum of an air con unit, the creak of bed springs, and the soft sound of Connor’s simulated breathing. 

 

“Thank you, baby,” Hank praises, tapping his finger against the little pucker again. Connor gasps prettily. “It’s pretty standard,” Hank muses, looking the toy over. “I’m kind of disappointed. I can’t play with your clit like this. You’re gonna have to do it for me.”

 

_ “Hank…” _

 

“Come on, baby. You know how I do it.”

 

Connor takes a shaky breath and Hank can almost picture him, flat on his back, legs spread, cheeks flushed that pretty blue. He doesn’t know if Connor’s clothed or naked, can’t quite pick out the rustle of fabric through the speaker, but he knows his baby, and knows exactly how he likes to be touched. He times it, in his head, Connor’s slow drift down to press a fingertip against his clit, other hand gently parting his lips with two fingers, pulling back the hood to expose himself. Hank bites back a groan from the memory alone. He’s never been one for phone sex, but this? This he can get behind. 

 

He knows he’s timed well enough because the moment Connor’s breath hitches down the line Hank has pressed the tip of a spit-slicked forefinger into the hole of the toy, and Connor yelps, the sound ripping out of him. 

 

“ _ H-Hank,”  _ he breathes, stunned, surprised, and Hank allows himself a stupidly broad grin. 

 

“Oh, baby, you can’t see, can you?” Hank murmurs, slowly thrusting the tip of his finger only an inch or so deep. The softness of the toy’s insides is almost as good as the real thing. “You can’t see what I’m gonna do to you.”

 

_ “N-no.” _

 

“Do you like that?”

 

_ “Yes.” _

 

Hank eases his finger all the way inside. Connor keens down the phone at him, a ripple of static following the sound. He gasps Hank’s name again and Hank curls his finger in response. The toy grips the digit in silky heat, surprisingly slick and if the thing is properly synced up to Connor’s body, then his boy is already slick just from a few gentle touches and Hank’s teasing words. 

 

“Oh, baby,” Hank sighs, drawing his finger out slowly. “This was a wicked little idea.”

 

_ “I wanted to… I wanted it.” _

 

“I know. And I love that.” Hank delves two fingers into the toy this time, judging the angle and what he knows and using that to curl his fingers up into what  _ should _ be—

 

_ “Hank—!”  _ Connor’s choked cry is reward enough. He rubs his fingers against that same spot again and Connor spits a static whimper down the phone.  _ “Hank…” _

 

“Feel good? Tell me, baby.”

 

_ “I c-can… I can feel your fingers. They’re… God, Hank, I can really feel them.”  _ His breath stutters as Hank presses deeper.  _ “It’s— Good.” _

 

“You want more, baby?”

 

A soft breath, a needy gasp.  _ “Please.” _

 

A little awkwardly and a lot gracelessly, Hank wriggles out of his underwear. He briefly considers jamming his tongue in the opening of the toy but even without an audience that’s just a little too far on the wrong side of weird. He settles for fluttering his fingers inside it instead, heavy cock giving a hard twitch against his thigh as Connor whimpers down the phone. He twists his fingers again to coax another pretty gasp from his faraway android and pauses as the silky vice of the toy clenches in response. 

 

“Is that you, baby?” Hank asks, stroking the length of his fingers along the warm insides of the slick channel. “Is that you clenching round my fingers?”

 

Connor moans, unable to properly answer, but Hank takes that as an affirmative all the same. It’s a heady thing to be able to render Connor speechless when he’s not even in the same damn state, and Hank’s ego, pummelled by years of alcoholism and self-loathing, has definitely started to inflate again because of his perfect little android. Slowly he withdraws his fingers, and the whine Connor gives in response is slightly frantic. 

 

_ “Hank, no, please—“ _

 

“Easy, baby,” Hank purrs, working his now free hand in slow, lazy strokes over his dick. A thin dribble of that artificial slick leaks out of the hole on the toy and it’s not difficult to picture Connor on his knees, legs spread, cunt leaking, in its place. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

 

_ “I…” _

 

“Come on, talk to me, baby. Still playing with your clit?”

 

_ “Y-yes.” _

 

“Fast or slow?”

 

_ “Slow. The way… The way you do,”  _ Connor shudders through a breath,  _ “when you tease me.” _

 

Hank bites his lip, groans around it, loud and heartfelt. “I can’t help it, baby, you sound so pretty when I tease you.” Hank lets his own legs fall open, dick flushed and curving up against his stomach. He holds it at the base while he lines up the toy, about to push in when something stops him. “Baby, how are you lying?”

 

_ “Hnnn?” _

 

“Are you on your back?”

 

_ “Ah— Yes…” _

 

“Can you get up on your knees for me? Like you’re gonna ride me?”

 

Connor’s breath stutters and Hank tries not to feel  _ too _ smug about how roughly he hears the hotel mattress springs creak when Connor clambers up onto his knees. He waits for a long moment, content to listen to the uneven pants ghosting down the phone, pictures in his mind the sight of Connor’s delicately flushed face as he tries to pull in enough air to cool his overheating systems. 

 

Slowly, he nudges the toy down. 

 

Connor’s reaction is immediate and gratifying. A harsh cry tears from his lips, a broken form of Hank’s name, and the toy’s soft silicon clenches round the head of Hank’s cock. It takes him a moment to get himself under control before he can slide deeper into the toy, enraptured as he is by the soft sounds of Connor’s already fractured control shattering on the other end of the phone. He groans, head falling back against the pillows, rolling his hips up so very slowly, partly for his own benefit, partly so he can focus on the wrecked sounds he’s pulling out of the android from over five hundred miles away. 

 

_ “Hank, please,”  _ Connor’s shaky voice bleeds down the connection.  _ “God, please, I need more. Fuck me.” _

 

Hank can see it clearly, in his mind, the pretty blush on Connor’s pale skin, his fingers clutching desperately at the sheets, the slack, glassy-eyed expression of desire on his face. The image prompts a hard shudder and Hank slides the toy the rest of the way down, helpless as always to the soft sounds of Connor’s pleas. He’s rewarded with a rough, shaky cry, a litany of  _ yes yes please Hank more  _ spilling from Connor’s mouth. 

 

“Can’t wait to have you home,” Hank growls, rolling his hips deep and slow. Connor chokes on his next moan, clenching his insides and, by extension, the toy around Hank’s dick. “God, I’m gonna make such a fuckin’ mess of you, baby.”

 

_ “Hank…”  _ It comes out like a whine, stretched out with desperate longing,  _ Ha-a-ank.  _ His name falling from Connor’s mouth has become one of his most favourite sounds in the world, whether moaned or gasped or murmured or snapped, he loves it. He revels in it now, the desperate way Connor pants it, the only drawback being that he can’t feel Connor in his arms, the solid weight of him on his hips. It’s a small disappointment, especially now they have this little technological marvel letting Hank rail Connor to reboot while they’re states apart. 

 

“Feel good, baby?” Hank manages to grit out, face hot and breathing heavy as his stomach drops and clenches, that intoxicating swoop coiling low in his abdomen. Connor’s response is a soft chitter of static and little else, Hank’s name rippling out of him like a wave of feedback, glitching and unsteady. “You close?” Another flutter of mechanical clicks is the answer and Hank can’t help the groan that slips out of him, low and intense, as he rolls his hips up faster, fucking into the toy to chase his own release while nudging Connor towards his own. 

 

Connor comes with the closest thing to a wail his overwhelmed vocal systems can manage, a harsh scrape of glitching soundbytes as unintelligible as they are attractive. The toy grips tighter round Hank’s cock and he swears, a low gutteral thing, as that wrings his orgasm out of him, leaving him flushed and breathless, twitching with the rippling waves of residual pleasure. Connor whimpers down the phone, a soft, sated sound, if ringing with a deep sense of longing Hank feels clutching inside his own chest. 

 

“You okay, baby?” Hank’s voice is gravel in his throat. 

 

_ “Yes,”  _ Connor murmurs, voice hitching as Hank slips his dick out of the toy.  _ “Though I miss you more now.” _

 

“Yeah,” Hank sighs, eyeing the toy a little warily. “Not to ruin the moment, but is this dishwasher safe?”

 

Connor’s laughter is soft and sweet and it tugs the corners of Hank’s mouth up into the fondest of smiles.  _ “Handwash only, I’m afraid.” _

 

“Ugh… Alright, fine.”

 

_ “I love you.” _

 

“I love you, too, baby. You’ll be home in no time, alright? You’re doing good work out there. I’m proud of you. Promise me you’ll get a few hours of stasis, okay?”

 

_ “I promise.” _

 

“Thank you.”

 

_ “Are you going to let Sumo sleep on my side of the bed?” _

 

Hank rumbles a laugh as he wriggles back into his underwear, grabbing his cell and hauling ass out of bed to go and deal with the aftermath of the Fuck Courtesy Of Cyberlife And Their Android Sex Toy Department. The moment the bedroom door is open Sumo forces his way inside and jumps up on the bed, sprawling out across as much of the bed as physically possible. 

 

“It’s his bed now,” Hank says with no small amount of irritable fondness. “Guess I’m taking the couch.”

 

_ “Ousted by your own dog.” _

 

“I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.”

 

_ “My deepest sympathies.” _

 

“Fuckin’ sassy android…”

 

_ “Grumpy human. May I stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep?” _

 

Hank smiles. “Baby, there’s nothing I’d want more.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I genuinely couldn’t tell you where they’re supposed to be having this meeting, I assume it’s the White House, I know nothing about America, I’m Irish. And I’m sure the place would be crawling with secret service, and I also know a random fact that none of the bathrooms are open to the public. But I’m assuming if you’re invited by the President you should be allowed to use the goddamn bathroom. All I know is that Connor really needs to hide in the bathroom in this fic, so he does. For reasons that will become clear.
> 
> (I’m not going for accuracy here, I’m just going for horny. Don’t look at me after this.)
> 
> PAY ATTENTION TO THE UPDATED TAGS.

_I don’t like her_ , North transmits moodily, arms folded across her chest giving her a rather petulant air. Markus rolls his eyes and pokes her in the side hard enough to make her drop her arms. She slaps him on the chest in retaliation, but doesn't fold them again.

 

 _You don’t have to like her,_ Markus says pointedly, _but we need her sympathies if this meeting is going to go well._

 

North transmits a heavy sense of irritation that’s strong enough to prompt a wince from the rest of the Jericho androids, but Connor himself doesn’t so much as twitch. Sat in a small side room, waiting for the president’s aide to collect them for their meeting, he’s not unduly bothered by North’s  distrust of the president, nor does he find it entirely unfounded. He’s reserving his own judgement on the woman mainly because she has yet to prove that she bears no ill will toward android kind. Calling off the attack on Woodward Avenue came a little too late to forgive easily.

 

Yet so did Connor’s defection to the android’s side, if he’s being completely honest with himself. He didn’t turn himself over to their cause until the final stretch of the revolution, so perhaps he should be more accepting of President Warren’s attempts at an accord.

 

_Hell, let them think what they want. You’re working with Markus and, at the end of it all, you’ve got a job and a family to come back to._

 

That memory is enough to crack Connor’s unassuming facade. He smiles before he can stop himself, a small, private thing, but North spots it anyway and runs with it.

 

“Look, loverboy’s gone all dopey,” she says with a grin and Connor rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “What, messaging your human again? It’s been like three days, you can’t go that long without him?”

 

“I can,” Connor says mildly. “I would just prefer not to.”

 

“The last time I came to Washington alone,” Markus cuts in, tone teasing, “you hardly left my head. It made the meetings very difficult.”

 

North colours at that, cheeks tinging blue, and both Simon and Josh snicker quietly, though not unkindly, at their partner’s embarrassment. It’s enough to get North to back off, though, and Connor offers Markus a grateful smile. Yet barely any time has passed, and their still waiting on the whims of the president.

 

 _I’m hopeful we’ll get a positive outcome,_ Josh says, voice calm and soothing. There’s a murmur of agreement from the others, though North’s expression is still sour. _I just wish humans were more punctual._

 

 _Careful,_ Markus says, grinning, _the professor might give the president a detention if she doesn’t hurry up._

 

_I never gave anyone a detention and you know it._

 

_Not for lack of wanting to._

 

“Guys,” Connor murmurs softly, putting a halt to the banter. His proximity sensors ping an alert and he focuses on the shifting of floorboards down the hall outside the room. Highlighted in yellow he can see the outline of the president’s aide, heading down the corridor towards them. The group stand at the ready as the door opens and the elder woman looks round at them all.

 

“We’re ready for you,” she murmurs, and they follow dutifully.

 

—

 

Connor is under no misapprehension that Markus has an ulterior motive for bringing him along to Washington. Markus is perfectly capable of measuring human reactions, perhaps not to the extent Connor can, but well enough that it wouldn’t affect the outcome of their meetings. Connor knows full well that Markus brought him to show him off, to remind the humans that the android who freed thousands of their kind from CyberLife is still on their side. And Connor doesn’t mind. He’d much rather be known as that than the deviant hunter.

 

But it’s not like Connor is here because he can offer any unique political insights. He knows every law in every country, has to, as an investigative android, but the finer points of politics are lost on him, mainly because it’s all so convoluted and dishonest.

 

He has no idea how Markus does it, honestly,

 

Still he plays his part well enough, sits at the meeting table with his expression carefully blank under the view of the cameras. President Warren sits at the head of the table, Markus to her left, and then in order of Simon, North, Josh and then Connor. He has a link open with Markus to provide an accurate real-time scan of the president’s vitals, to pinpoint any falsehoods or negative responses. As it stands, she’s currently being as open and honest as she can, which bodes well for their goal.

 

The issue is, though, that Connor really isn’t paying much attention. Nor can he bring himself to care enough to try. He’s recording everything said so that he can answer should an errant question be thrown his way, but so far all the questions and concerns have been directed at the central Jericho crew, and Connor couldn’t be less bothered by that.

 

A text notification pops up in his HUD and Connor closes off that section of his systems from the rest, leaving Markus the vital scans and closing him off to everything else. Bored out of his mind, Connor opens the text.

 

 

>   
>  `i see you baby. you look so handsome`

 

Connor keeps his reaction from showing outwardly, but every one of his circuits thrums warmly in response.

 

 

>   
>  `Hank! I didn’t know you were going to be watching.`
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  `and miss you looking so good on tv? never`

 

Connor shifts his posture slightly as though getting comfortable and sends a brief reminder to the others to do the same. Sitting perfectly still for too long unnerves humans, something Connor still sometimes has trouble with, especially when he’s at home and doesn’t have to check his natural behaviour to make Hank comfortable. Some of his favourite times are when they’re curled together on the sofa and Connor can let go of his skin, which prompts Hank to stroke his warm, broad palms over his bare plates.

 

 

>   
>  `I miss you so much.`

>   
>  `i miss you too baby. not much longer. the reports we’re getting are pretty positive. markus is doing good work`

>   
>  `He is.`

 

Something aches in Connor’s chest, leaden and heavy just behind his thirium pump. It’s a strange feeling, homesickness in an android. Connor never thought he’d have a home to miss. But it’s not so much the home as it is the man who’s waiting there for him.

 

 

>   
>  `hey, con?`

>   
>  `What is it, Hank?`

>   
>  `might not be the best time to bring this up but you know the thing we were playing with the other night?`

 

Connor deactivates the thirium flow to his face.

 

 

>   
>  `It’s not an ideal time, but yes, I know of it. Intimately, you could say.`

>   
>  `heh true`  
>  `i was just wondering cuz the little light on it hasn’t gone off`  
>  `didn’t know if that was you or if it was broken`

>   
>  `Oh, no, I believe that was me. I must not have disconnected from it properly. I’ll do it now. Tell me when the light turns off?`

>   
>  `wait`

 

Connor pauses, halfway to forcing a disconnection from their little long-distance toy. He’s not surprised he forgot to disconnect afterwards, he was a little… overwhelmed. Still, he waits for a moment, keeping his curious confusion off of his face, until Hank calls him, his contact picture - the two of them grinning, cheek to cheek with Sumo squeezed into the bottom of the frame - popping up in the corner of his vision.

 

_“Hey, babe.”_

 

 _Hello, Hank._ Connor can’t reply out loud, but he’s still able to transmit mentally the same way he can with androids, equipped as he is for long and short distance communications. A remarkable feat of engineering, really.

 

_“Ah, shit. Is it bad to be this happy to hear your voice? We only spoke a few hours ago.”_

 

_No, it’s not bad. I feel the same._

 

_“Glad it’s not just me, then. You seemed bored.”_

 

_I don’t think I did. I’ve been mindful of keeping my expression carefully neutral._

 

 _“Yeah.”_ Hank gives a low huff of amusement that warms Connor right down to his polyvinyl bones. _“But Madam President doesn’t know you like I do. You make the same face when Reed’s giving briefings.”_

 

Connor smiles inwardly. _Ah, you caught me out._

 

_“Told you, babe. No one knows you like I do.”_

 

A simple statement and yet it ripples through every line of Connor’s code like a physical embrace. _As lovely as that sentiment is, I’m assuming you didn’t call me to exchange sweet nothings._

 

_“No, you’re right about that. I called you to pass the time a bit. You gave me an idea.”_

 

_What sort of idea?_

 

_“Oh, you know… You’re so far away… You can’t see me, but I can see you. I think the camera person has the hots for you, you know? You’ve been in shot for the past ten minutes.”_

 

_Hank._

 

 _“Right, right.”_ A soft laugh, the rustle of fabric and then— An expected touch, sudden but so very soft; the transmitted sensation of two calloused fingers brushing their pads lightly over Connor’s vaginal opening.

 

It takes Connor every ounce of his considerable willpower and focus not to leap out of his chair. He tenses but that goes unnoticed by everyone in the room.

 

 _Hank!_ Connor yelps through their private connection. _What are you doing?!_

 

 _“Just a suggestion,”_ Hank offers serenely. Connor can hear the smile in his voice. _“Your LED went yellow for just a second then. That was fun.”_

 

 _You can’t do this,_ Connor chides, thankful for his inability to sweat. _This isn’t the time for playing around._

 

_“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”_

 

He does sound genuinely contrite and Connor, damn it all, is already fighting down the low thrum of arousal that’s settled low in his abdomen. His circuitry is humming, his systems on high alert, ready for pleasure, tuned to Hank’s touch despite the distance. And part of Connor - a very large part - is already thinking about how this would work.

 

It would be easy enough to perform a soft shut down of his main actuators, to sever the connections that move his limbs. He could lock himself down, almost like stasis, and let Hank do what he wanted. It’s so tempting in its wrongness. He’s in front of cameras, he’s part of a group campaigning for the rights of their people.

 

And all he can think about is Hank’s dick.

 

Par for the course, really.

 

_Hank._

 

_“Yeah?”_

 

_Fuck me._

 

He hears the sharp breath that Hank sucks in, then nothing for a long moment, then Connor has to clench his jaw shut and quickly disable his vocal processors because Hank slides a long, thick finger into that damned toy - into _him -_ without a single word of warning. Connor swallows hard, clenching down on what he realistically knows is not inside him but that he can still feel, curling slowly, pressing deep, searching for something Connor both desperately does and does not want Hank to find.

 

_“You’re yellow, baby.”_

 

_I… Hank, I…_

 

_“That’s better, you’re blue again now.”_

 

_Hank, please…_

 

Connor wants to writhe, wants to buck his hips, wants to moan, cry out, arch. Not that any of that would help, even if he were alone in the hotel room and he didn’t have a— _fuck,_ an audience. He could writhe clear across the bed and still be helpless because it’s that damn toy Hank is touching and not _him._

 

 _“You’re gonna be home soon as I swear to god,”_ Hank growls from every direction, voice rumbling through Connor’s body, _“we’re not gonna make it to the bedroom.”_

 

Connor keens, unheard and unnoticed, outwardly immobile though inside he is shuddering. Two fingers now, pushing deep, curling firmly and Connor’s vision glitches as Hank finds that spot, that wonderful little place inside of him that sends that intoxicating dull ache spreading right through his body down to his toes. Analytical fluid floods Connor’s mouth. He wants Hank’s fingers in there, contents himself by reconstructing one of many perfectly preserved memories of those wonderful fingers weighing down his tongue.

 

 _“I said I was gonna make a mess of you,”_ Hank grits out, and Connor’s synthetic heart stutters in his chest at the realisation that Hank is touching himself too. _“And I meant it. Fuck, Connor, I miss you so much. Your face, your voice, the way you move. The way you taste…”_

 

 _H-Hank…_ Connor’s voice box stutters but of course nothing comes out.

 

_“You went red there, just for a second. Feel good?”_

 

_So good…_

 

Hank grinds his fingers deeper. Inside his head, Connor yells.

 

 _“Christ,”_ Hank gasps, fingers fumbling, pushing deeper. _“I’m going insane. All I can think about is you spread out so I can taste you, lick your cunt ‘til you’re begging. You want that, baby?”_

 

 _Yes, Hank,_ **_yes_ ** _—_

 

Connor whimpers silently as Hank’s fingers ease out of him. He clenches down on nothing, the sudden emptiness almost unbearable, but not a moment later he can feel the familiar sensation of Hank’s fat cockhead nudging at his opening and if the systems weren’t locked down, he’d be panting like a dog.

 

 _“Say it, Connor,”_ Hank purrs. _“I want to hear you.”_

 

 _Fuck me,_ Connor begs in a wave of feedback and static through their transmission. _Hank, please, I need you._

 

Blessedly Hank doesn’t make him wait. He slides home in one smooth drag against Connor’s insides and Connor’s thighs tremble against the urge to spread apart. It’s too much and not enough. He can’t feel the catch of calloused and warm palms against his skin, the brush of a beard against his jaw after the soft press of lips, the weight of Hank above or beneath him, but god he can feel him right inside, deep and hot and thick and Connor has to covertly brush his mouth to make sure he’s not drooling. His hands, however, are shaking.

 

 _“Saw that,”_ Hank chuckles breathlessly, rolling into him deep and slow. Connor blinks hard a few times, optics glitching as he fights against letting them roll back. His back teeth ache with the pleasure of it, synthetic nerves sparking with every deep stroke inside.

 

_Harder. Please._

 

_“You sure you can handle that, babe? You look like you’re close to losing it.”_

 

_Let’s find out._

 

Hank’s low laughter rumbles through their private connection and the next thrust is hard and unexpected and Connor grips the arm of his chair so tightly the wood underneath his palm splinters and a chunk comes away in his palm. No one notices, but Connor is too far beyond caring, too blissed out to even attempt to school his expression from whatever it’s doing. He doesn’t care, he feels to good, so full, electricity sparking up his nerves as Hank moves faster, harder, giving him everything he has—

 

“...you for your time, Madam President,” Markus says warmly, standing first and shaking president Warren’s hand cordially.

 

_“Shit—!”_

 

Hank stops moving immediately and Connor sucks in a sharp breath, cold air hitting his overheating systems like a physical punch to the gut. Panicked, he stands as carefully as he can, brought abruptly back into the room full of people and androids and cameras, unlocking his leg joints to try and look normal. The broadcast has ended, the meeting is over and Connor has to keep up the pretence that he’s not currently in the middle of getting fucked.

 

 _“Shit,_ ” Hank is still hissing. _“Shit, shit, shit, shit shit! Sorry, I’m gonna—“_

 

 _Don’t. Fucking. Move._ Connor hisses the warning through static, on edge, nerves frayed as he follows Simon and Josh’s lead, realising that he’s going to have to shake the president’s hand while Hank is _still inside the fucking toy._ He swallows hard, overrides the lock on his vocal processors, and steps forward as Josh moves away.

 

“A pleasure to have you here, Connor,” Warren says, shaking his hand firmly. “I hope we’ll get the chance to talk more in the future. Perhaps on your next visit to Washington?”

 

“Of course, Madam President,” Connor says smoothly, offering her a polite half-bow. “I’m very grateful for the steps you are taking to improve the lives of our people.”

 

He manages, just about, to follow the others out of the room without shaking apart, but with every step he clenches down and his thoughts splinter away as the feeling of Hank inside him hits deep.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he chokes out to Markus, who opens his mouth to answer, brow furrowing in concern, but Connor is already off down the corridor towards the nearest bathroom, desperate to get away and hoping to all known human deities that he’s not limping as badly as he feels he is. He can hear Hank’s heavy breathing quiet inside his head, even as he locks himself into the bathroom and leans heavily against the sink, one hand covering his mouth to muffle any further sounds he might make.

 

_“C-Connor?”_

 

_Keep going!_

 

_“Are you sure?!”_

 

_Hank!_

 

_“Shit— Right!”_

 

Connor clutches the edges of the sink with his free hand, legs shaking, fingers unsteady as he unfastens his belt and slips a hand down into his underwear, swiping two fingers through the wetness there and rubbing almost frantically over his clit. Pleasure bursts through his circuits, tearing a muffled groan from his lips as Hank drives into him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge until he shudders with a whimper, locking his knees back up so he doesn’t fall to the floor. He’s dimly aware of the low growl of Hank’s own climax, the heady rush of being filled, but there’s nothing left behind, not this time, with Hank still so far away.  

 

_“Fuck… Jesus Christ…”_

 

_That was a terrible idea._

 

_“Yeah.”_

 

_Awful. Truly awful._

 

_“No, I’m with you.”_

 

_I’m throwing that toy away._

 

_“Hey, now, don’t be so hasty-”_

 

_And the next time I have to leave, you’re coming with me._

 

_“Oh. Yeah, that’s probably a better idea.”_

 

 _And when I get home, Henry Anderson, you are in_ ** _so_** _much trouble._

 

_“Heh. Promises, promises, babe.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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